


Everything (that I couldn't have)

by obsessivereader



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Marriage of Convenience, Mutual Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Steve Rogers, Sharing a Bed, the avengers are one big happy family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 17:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8454946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivereader/pseuds/obsessivereader
Summary: “You don’t have to do this, Steve.” Bucky pushes away the letter from the Russian government demanding that one Dmitri Batischev, alias the Winter Soldier, be surrendered to them to stand trial for his crimes. Steve hesitates in the doorway. Bucky must’ve heard the tail end of his conversation with Pepper. Now he looks tired, and resigned, and so done and Steve fucking hates that Bucky keeps getting dealt shit hand after shit hand. “I want to.” He hopes Bucky can hear the conviction in his voice. “I’m not losing you again.”“But getting married? You think that’s gonna work?”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Paperwork](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7586740) by [toli-a (togina)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/togina/pseuds/toli-a). 



> This work is inspired by Paperwork by the incredible togina.

      “You don’t have to do this, Steve.” Bucky pushes away the letter from the Russian government demanding that one Dmitri Batischev, alias the Winter Soldier, be surrendered to them to stand trial for his crimes.

      Steve hesitates in the doorway. Bucky must’ve heard the tail end of his conversation with Pepper. Now he looks tired, and resigned, and so done and Steve fucking hates that Bucky keeps getting dealt shit hand after shit hand. “I want to.” He hopes Bucky can hear the conviction in his voice. “I’m not losing you again.”

      “But getting married? You think that’s gonna work?”

      “If we get married, and you get a green card, then they can’t touch you, not when the US doesn’t have an extradition treaty with Russia. Besides, it’s not a permanent solution, it’s only to give us more time. The Russians have ID papers and DNA that prove you’re Dmitri? Well fuck that. We’ll get our own DNA evidence.” He uncurls his hands from fists he doesn’t remember making and shoves them into his pockets. “We’ll prove you’re Bucky Barnes and then the Russians can take that letter and shove it.”

      Bucky looks unconvinced. “So I marry you as Dmitri... Would the marriage even be valid?”

      “It would, actually.” Which had been a surprise to Steve when Pepper had mentioned it. “We marry the person, not the name. It’s valid as long as there’s no fraud.”

      “Fraud as in…?”

      “As in you pretending to be Dmitri to get me to marry you. Which is not what’s happening here.”

      Bucky’s face does an odd thing then he looks down and his hair obscures his face. “What if you meet someone?” he asks softly.

      “I’ve been out of the ice for five years, Buck. Hasn’t happened yet.” Probably because he’d met his someone so long ago that he can’t even pinpoint the moment he’d fallen in love. “Or what if you meet someone? Is that what you're worried about?”

      “Come on, Steve.” Bucky gives him an exasperated look. “Who'd want to date the Winter Soldier?”

 _I would_ , Steve thinks. Winter Soldier, Dmitri Batischev, James Buchanan Barnes, it didn’t matter, they were all Bucky. “Do you know how many fansites you have?”

      “I have fansites?” Bucky’s expression is a comical blend of curious and appalled. “How do you know about them?”

      “I might've come across some on the internet.” They had really nice photos of Bucky. And… art.

      “They probably just like the idea of the Winter Soldier,” Bucky says. “The reality is a lot more fucked up than anyone would want to deal with.”

      “I think we deal with each other just fine.”

      “Yeah well, you never had the sense to stay away from trouble.”

      The look Bucky gives him is reproachful. He ignores it. “Think about it,” he says, “it wouldn’t take much more to convince INS we’re married. We live together, our stuff’s all mixed up, our _lives_ are all mixed up. Sharing a bed? Nothing new. Being close to each other? Nothing new there either.”

      Bucky studies him for a long uncomfortable moment. “You’ve thought about this.”

      He swallows a hysterical laugh. “Yeah, Buck. I have.” A horrible thought occurs to him. “Is there… I mean, it doesn’t have to be me. As long as they’re American, and know you well enough—”

      “No,” Bucky cuts him off. “If I marry anyone, it’s gonna be you.”

      “Oh,” Steve says, and his heart lurches sideways at Bucky’s choice of words. “Okay.” A small kernel of worry he hadn’t even realised was there dissolves.

      “Have you ever kissed a guy, Steve?” Bucky folds the letter with care and slides it back into the envelope. “Don’t forget we’re gonna have to convince INS that we’re doing a lot more than sharing an apartment.”

      “No,” Steve says. “But I think I could handle kissing your dumb face.” He shrugs. “If you’re not up for it…”

      That gets Bucky’s attention. “Up for it?” Bucky stands up and walks over, that slow, relentless walk that shouldn’t get Steve as hot as it does considering what happened the first time he’d seen it. Those scared and horny memes on Winter Soldier sites? He’s lived them.

      Bucky stops inches in front of him and folds his arms. “You really want to do this? Convince someone that we’re having sex?”

      It’s unfair, the way Bucky’s voice goes smooth and smoky when he says ‘sex’.

      Bucky snorts. “You can’t even hear me say it without turning red.”

      “Let’s try it then,” Steve says. “See if I can handle it.”

_“Sex?”_

      “No! Not—I meant a _kiss_. Let’s try a kiss and see whether we can handle it.” He knows he can. Actually no, he probably can’t, come to think of it, but not for the reasons Bucky might think.

      “So you’re suggesting we kiss each other to... what? See if we can pull it off?”

      “Well… yeah.” Steve releases the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. Not only was Bucky not disgusted by the idea of kissing him, he might actually be considering it. “‘Cause we’ve got to convince INS, like you said. But it’s not like we need to mack on each other. It’ll just be”—he tries to sound casual—“‘hello’ kisses.”

      Bucky raises an eyebrow. “‘Mack’?”

      Steve shrugs. “It’s one of those new words. It means—”

      “I know what it means, Steve. I just didn’t think you did.”

      Steve waits, heart in his throat while Bucky thinks. He won’t push, he can’t push, he’s already crossed all kinds of lines, but the temptation is so strong.

      Bucky takes a step closer. Then another. Every nerve in his body thrums at Bucky’s proximity and Steve has to stop himself from closing the gap.

      “Hi honey, I’m home,” Bucky whispers, and then warm lips brush against his while they’re still stretched in an involuntary smile. The light scrape of stubble makes his skin tingle. His eyes open to find Bucky watching him uncertainly, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

      Steve clears his throat. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”

      Bucky nods.

      “My turn?” Steve asks.

      Bucky’s gaze flickers to his lips, then he nods. Steve steps in, closing the distance between them a little more. He cups Bucky’s jaw and barely registers the surprised inhale before he’s pressing his lips to Bucky’s. Hello kiss, he reminds himself, no macking, but he can’t resist parting his lips slightly. There’s a brief impression of firm lips and moist heat and then Steve forces himself to step back.

      “So,” Bucky says, a faint wash of pink tinting his cheeks.

      “So,” Steve parrots stupidly. He can’t stop looking at Bucky, and it seems like Bucky can’t stop looking back.

      “That was…”

      “Yeah.”

      “You think they’ll buy it?”

      “Yeah.” Steve swallows with a throat suddenly gone dry. “So are we doing this?”

      Bucky’s eyes crinkle with amusement and the tension breaks.

      “What’s so funny, Buck?”

      “You sure know how to sweet talk a guy.” Bucky shakes his head and repeats under his breath, “‘So are we doing this’.”

      “Okay, first of all, fuck you,” Steve says. “I can get down on one knee if you want—”

      “Now there’s an idea.”

      “—Secondly, are we doing this or not?”

      Bucky laughs, low and soft and quieter in all the same ways Bucky’s quieter these days. The sound of it makes Steve feel lighter, heart beat faster, and he can’t help but smile.

      “Yeah, okay,” Bucky says. “We’re doing this.”

  

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

  

      “I think we should practice.”

      Steve blinks in surprise and looks up from his book. Bucky’s slouched down in the armchair, long legs stretched out and feet propped up on the footrest. He seems so engrossed in his tablet that Steve wonders if maybe he’d heard wrongly. “Practice what?”

      “Acting like a couple.”

      Steve’s whole being comes to attention. “You mean like holding hands and stuff?”

Bucky nods.

      “That’s good strategy.” He sits up and tries not to let his excessive enthusiasm leak into his voice. “Get used to acting like a real couple so we look natural when INS comes for the interview.”

      “Right,” Bucky says, looking down. “Strategy.”

      “What did you have in mind?”

      “We could watch a movie together?”

      “And cuddle?” Steve asks hopefully.

      Bucky’s eyes light up at the suggestion. “Yeah, okay.”

      Steve puts away his book and selects a movie at random from their Netflix queue because he really doesn’t care what they watch. He puts his socked feet on the coffee table and pats the seat next to him before resting his right arm along the couch back. “C’mere.”

      Bucky sits down next to Steve, body a line of heat all down Steve’s right side. After the serum accelerated his metabolic rate, Bucky was the only one whose body still felt warm to Steve. He will never forgive himself for not realising sooner the implications of that. “Ready?” he asks.

      “For what?”

      “To cuddle.”

      Bucky gives him a look. “Isn’t that what we’re already doing?”   

      “Nah. This is just sitting close together.” He sees people cuddling all the time now, in the streets, in trains, on tv, the sight making his chest ache with memories, especially when the weather turns cold. That’s when the sense memories are the strongest, and he can feel the phantom warmth of Bucky’s body against his, from sitting close to Bucky in their little apartment, from waking up wrapped in Bucky’s arms, from huddling together during night watches. But all he says is, “I see it done all the time in movies.”

      “I guess that makes you the expert then,” Bucky says dryly.

      “You know, Buck, with the number of girls you’ve dated, you’d be more of an expert than me.”

      “That was a long time ago.” Bucky shrugs. “I’m a little rusty.”

      Steve buries his head in his hands and groans out his horror at the pun while Bucky smirks at him.

      “Come on.” Bucky elbows him. With the metal arm. “I’ll follow your lead on this one.”

      Steve rubs pointedly at the sore spot on his ribs, which only serves to make Bucky smirk even more. He drops his arm around Bucky’s shoulder, making sure to jostle him as much as possible along the way. This earns him a dirty look. “You started it,” Steve says.

      He tucks a grumbling Bucky into his side, grateful when Bucky doesn’t deploy his metal elbow, then shifts him until he gets the idea and slides down to rest his head on Steve’s shoulder. He looks down at the top of Bucky’s head. “This okay?” he whispers.

      Bucky nods.

      Steve hides a smile in Bucky’s hair. He’s glad Bucky can’t see it because he’s sure he looks hopelessly besotted. He reaches down with his left hand and twines their fingers together, his flesh hand to Bucky’s metal one, brings their joined hands up and presses a kiss onto Bucky’s hand. Bucky gives him a surprised look, then turns away, a shy, furtive smile on his lips. Feeling emboldened, Steve brushes a kiss against Bucky’s temple. Practice, right?

      He lets the sounds of the movie wash over him, too focused on the warm weight of Bucky against him to bother making sense of what’s happening on the screen. He finds himself matching his breaths to Bucky’s, an old habit from before. For the first time in too long, he lets himself be, set aside plans and problems and strategies for a while and enjoy this quiet moment with Bucky. The kisses were nice, and Steve hasn’t been able to stop wishing for a repeat, but this, this is really nice too.

      “This is a great idea, Buck.” He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, he already feels guilty enough about pushing the marriage idea for his own selfish reasons, but… “You got any other ideas?”

      “We could…” Bucky hesitates and Steve can feel him tensing up. “No, you know what? Never mind.”

      “You know you can’t do that,” Steve says firmly. “You can’t start and then not finish, you know what that does to me. You know I can’t let it go.”

      Bucky’s eyes laugh at him. “Fucking dog with a bone.”

      “You know it. So just give up and tell me.”

      The fingers of Bucky’s right hand fiddle with a crease on his sweatpants while he chews at his lip. Now Steve’s really curious. What the hell kind of idea has Bucky so nervous?

      In a voice that’s almost too soft to be heard over the tv, Bucky says, “We could start sharing a room.”

      Steve doesn’t even know what to say for a moment, it’s like someone found his list of wishes and started granting them one by one.

      Bucky shifts away. “It was a stupid—”

      “No! No, it’s good!” He pulls Bucky back into his side and grips Bucky’s hand tighter just in case he gets any ideas about letting go. “We should get used to having all our stuff in one room, make it look lived in.” Ideas and checklists bloom in his head. Bucky’s looking at him oddly, probably because he’s nearly vibrating with the need to leap up from the couch and start moving stuff.

      _Tone it down, Steve, act casual_. “Who’s room should we use?”

      “I was thinking… mine? Since”—Bucky gives him a disapproving look—“it’s the more defensible one.”

      “Now who’s the dog with a bone? I told you when we moved in, anyone wants to get to you, they’re gonna have to go through me. Besides, you’ve got me where you want me now, right?”

      There’s a slight hesitation before Bucky asks, “And where would that be?”

      “The more defensible room,” he says, surprised Bucky has to ask.

      “Right.”

      “So. When do you think we should make the move?”

      Bucky shrugs, eyes still on the tv. “You’re the one that’s got to move your stuff.”

      “Then there’s no time like the present, Buck.”

      That earns him a startled look. “Right now?”

      “Never put off to tomorrow...”

      Bucky gives him a disbelieving look. “You really are a hundred years old.”

      “Takes one to know one, Buck.” As he waits for Bucky to answer, he’s glad for all the years of practice he’s had hiding his feelings because he’s pretty sure Bucky can’t tell how nervous he is.

      “You don’t want to finish the movie first?”

      “I wasn’t actually paying any attention to it,” Steve admits.

      Bucky stands up and pulls Steve to his feet. “Me neither.”

          

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

     

     There’s a moment when Steve wakes with Bucky curled around him, body radiating heat, that he thinks he’s back in a cramped tenement apartment in Brooklyn. Then details start to register; the unrelenting hardness of the arm draped over his waist, the way he isn’t engulfed in Bucky’s hold. He grips Bucky’s metal arm, needing to reassure himself that Bucky’s really here in the present with him. And now, as then, he fights the urge to turn around and press kisses into Bucky’s skin.

      All too soon, Bucky stirs, pressing closer, then whiskers scrape against the sensitive skin of Steve’s neck just above the collar of his t-shirt making goosebumps chase across his skin. He can tell the moment Bucky comes fully awake by the way he goes still and then shifts away, taking care not to jostle Steve. It’s obvious Bucky doesn’t want to wake him, so he keeps his eyes closed till he hears the soft click of the door closing. Just like old times, he thinks sadly.

      Bucky’s sitting at the breakfast table when Steve leaves the room. He’s drinking instant coffee as usual because he has no patience for the coffee machine _. I just want the caffeine, Steve, I don’t need to write fucking poetry about it,_ he’d said, when Steve had asked him about it once.

      “Hey.” Bucky seems tense, like he’s not sure how to act after they spent the night in the same bed.

      Wanting to reassure him, Steve leans down and presses a kiss to Bucky’s temple. Bucky ducks his head and takes a sip of his coffee, but Steve can just make out the edges of the smile that curve his lips. “Hey,” Steve says. His heart gives a happy little thump when he feels the cool metal of Bucky’s fingers gripping his own.

      “I started your coffee,” Bucky says, nodding at the coffee machine before letting go.

      “Oh.” For some reason, a blush crawls up his cheeks even as he feels warmed from the inside out. “Thanks.”

      And then it’s like any other morning together. Except they sit a little closer, and their touches linger a little longer, and Steve has to keep reminding himself that it’s all just pretend.

          

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

     

     Steve’s about to take a sip of his coffee when Bucky shuffles out of the bedroom, morning light glinting off his arm and the ring on his right hand. His hair looks like birds nested in it overnight and he’s got shadows under his eyes.

      It’s a surprise to see Bucky up since he’d probably fallen asleep sometime before dawn. Steve had woken up several times in the night to find Bucky reading, limned by the glow from the bedside light. The sight warmed him, and he’d curled close and pressed his forehead to Bucky’s hip. He’d fallen back asleep with the comforting weight of Bucky’s hand on his shoulder.

      Bucky gives Sam an absent nod and wanders up to Steve. Ignoring Steve’s sweaty post-run condition, Bucky curves a hand around his waist and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Morning,” Bucky mumbles, and wanders off to the living room before Steve can even catch his breath.

      His lips twitch in amusement when he looks down and realises that Bucky made off with his coffee. “Dammit, Buck.” Bucky likes brewed coffee just fine when he doesn’t have to wait for it.

      He starts another cup of coffee going. Then he freezes and glances at Sam, who’s goggling after Bucky, cup of coffee frozen halfway to his mouth. Sam turns to him with a ‘what the hell did I just witness’ expression on his face and points in Bucky’s direction. “Did he just—? So you guys are now—?”

      “No! It’s for the—We’re getting used to acting like a couple for when INS come and interview us.” He gives a helpless shrug. “It’s… practice.”

      And Sam, because he’s an ass, makes a big show of looking around the apartment, even going so far as to get off his stool and check under the breakfast counter. “I don’t see anyone from INS around _now_...”

      Steve makes shushing motions, worried that Bucky will be able to hear them over the sound of the coffee machine.

      Sam rolls his eyes but lowers his voice. “Look at him!” They both turn to look at Bucky, curled up in the armchair closest to the window, cradling his stolen cup of coffee and staring blearily out the window. “Dude hasn’t even switched on half his brain. That wasn’t practice, Steve, that was _habit_.” Sam gives him a probing look. “What else have you two been practicing?”

      “Well,” Steve says, “I’ve kinda... moved into his room.”

      Sam looks like he’s seriously considering slapping Steve upside the head.

      “We’re not—Look, us sharing a bed is nothing new. We didn’t exactly have heaters and electric blankets back then.” He doesn’t mention that most mornings, they wake up curved around each other, even though there’s no need for them to share warmth in their climate-controlled apartment. He definitely doesn’t mention his morning wood or the ten extra minutes he takes in the shower every night.

      “And whose idea was it to share a room?”

      “His, actually.”

      “Huh.” Sam looks like he’s reassessing some long-held beliefs. “How long until the interview?”

      “Another week. Usually it’s three weeks after the marriage, but since ours is a special case, our interview’s being expedited.”

      “And how long have you guys been sharing the room?”

      “A week.”

      “And how long did it take to move your stuff in?”

      “A few days?” He decides not to tell Sam that they’d started with just his toothbrush that first night since it smacked a little too much of desperation on his part.

      “Right. So why exactly did you need to do it two weeks before the interview?”

      Steve shifts under Sam’s knowing gaze. “We didn’t want the room to look staged.”

      “Right,” Sam says again, dragging out the syllables and making sure every single one of them drips with sarcasm. “Have you told him how you feel?”

      “Who says there’s anything to tell?” he mutters.

      Sam doesn’t even dignify that with a reply. “What happens when everything’s sorted out and he—”

      Steve flinches.

      “Sorry, man.” Sam’s eyes fill with compassion as he studies Steve. “You should tell him how you feel.”

      “Bucky’s never… Bucky’s only ever dated women, Sam.”

      “Yeah, well, doesn’t look like he’s got any problem with kissing you. And times were different back then, right? I mean, you’re bi and I’m sure you didn’t date guys back then.”

      He doesn’t say anything.

      Sam’s eyebrows do the thing again. “ _Did_ you date guys back then?”

      He rolls his eyes. “I went to art school, you know.”

      “So you did date guys!”

      The coffee machine finishes with his coffee and Steve checks on Bucky in the sudden silence. Bucky’s eyes are closed, but Steve lowers his voice a little more just in case. “No. But I _could’ve_.” He shrugs. “I just wasn’t interested in anyone.”

      “Like you weren’t interested in anyone since you woke up?” Sam shakes his head. “Talk to him. He _kissed_ you. While he was shuffling around like—like some kinda zombie. He suggested sleeping together in the same bed.” Sam jabs a finger at him. “Talk. To. Him.”

      “I can’t.”

      “Why not? What’ve you got to lose? You know Bucky wouldn’t hold it against you. Your boy would never willingly hurt you.”

      “It’s not about me, Sam. I’ve thought about telling him. But Bucky… He’s always tried to protect me, to take care of me. He hates seeing me get hurt.”

      The sad look in Sam’s eyes suggests that he’s starting to see what the problem is.

      “Let’s say I tell him. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What would it do to him to know that he’s the reason why I’m—I’m—” he makes a helpless gesture, “while knowing there’s nothing he can do about it.” Bucky has enough guilt over things he’d been helpless to prevent.

      “Damn,” Sam says softly.

      He feels raw and exposed, so he looks at his coffee instead. “Yeah.”

      “So you’re gonna keep hiding the truth from him,” Sam says carefully. “For his own good.”

      “I can’t bear the thought of him hurting,” he says, even as that hint of reproach stings. “I can’t. So maybe I’m protecting myself as well.”

      “How do you think he’ll feel if he finds out you’ve been hiding this from him for years?”

      “He won’t find out.”

      “How can you be sure?”

      “We’ve lived together on and off for years now, Sam. If he hasn’t figured it out by now, I doubt he ever will.” And if he’s a little bitter about that, well… who’s to know.

      Sam doesn’t look convinced, but Steve’s grateful when he lets the matter lie.

      After Sam leaves, he sits down next to Bucky on the couch, careful not to wake him. As he watches Bucky doze, he tries not to think about Pepper’s text. Tracking the orphanage’s records had been a bust, but the Smithsonian was already working with several good prospects from their collection for viable DNA.

      Morita’s granddaughter had also donated a pocket knife that Bucky had given Morita the night before he fell. Morita had never brought himself to use it, nor tell Steve about it, but had carried it through the war instead, ill-omened though it was.

      And it’s good, they’re getting closer to proving Bucky’s identity. But there’s a part of him that can only think that time’s running out. He pushes it all to the back of his mind when Bucky shifts closer. Steve lifts his arm to let Bucky curl up with his head in Steve’s lap, like a cat seeking warmth.

      “Sam left?” Bucky asks.

      “Yeah.” He cards his fingers slowly through Bucky’s hair, trying to untangle the knots in it. He should probably be more diligent about reminding Bucky to use the conditioner. “Why didn’t you stay in bed if you still want to sleep?”

      Bucky’s already drifting off when he says, “You weren’t there.”

      Steve’s breath hitches as the ache in his chest that’s been his constant companion since he was fifteen flares up. His gaze falls to his hands, buried in Bucky’s hair in the midst of untangling one particularly stubborn knot, and then to Bucky’s profile peaceful in sleep. He thinks: _How do I give this up?_

          

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

          

      Steve hangs up the phone and pulls Bucky into a tight hug. “It’s over,” he whispers into Bucky’s hair. “The Russians have given up. You’re safe.” Bucky hugs him back so tight that even he has a little trouble breathing.

      Bucky’s _safe_. He has his name back, and his freedom. The Smithsonian, working together with Tony and Bruce, had enough evidence to prove that Bucky was James Buchanan Barnes even taking into account the changes to his DNA caused by Zola’s serum. It didn’t hurt that the US government was very keen on having a second supersoldier with American citizenship and not letting said supersoldier fall into Russian hands. Especially when that would lose them their first supersoldier. Something Steve had made very clear to them. In no uncertain terms.

      “You did it,” Bucky says, sounding shaken, “all of you.”

      The disbelief in Bucky’s voice breaks Steve’s heart a little. Even after all this time, Bucky still can’t quite bring himself to believe that he has so many people willing to fight in his corner.

      Steve hugs Bucky tighter, which makes Bucky groan in protest and lean back to look at him. Bucky’s eyes are clear and beautiful and happy, and Steve’s already leaning in for a kiss when it hits him… he doesn’t have the right anymore.

      Close on the heels of that thought is the awareness of how close they are. It’s not like they weren’t affectionate before, but it wasn’t… intimate, like the way they’re standing now, pressed together from chest to thigh. He can see the moment the same thing occurs to Bucky. They both step back, looking everywhere but at each other.

      There’s a brief, awkward silence until their phones start buzzing with messages. Bucky pulls out his phone. “Looks like everyone else has heard the news,” he says as he thumbs through the congratulation messages.

      Clint: assassin man!! pizza at the tower eta 30m!! hubs u come too!

      Nat: vodka on me [smirk emoji] russian vodka

      Bucky: [thumbs up emoji]

      Maria: Nat aren’t you in Europe?

      Nat: i have my ways [sunglasses emoji]

      Clint: ur gonna make me break out the secret stash aren’t u

      Nat: [knife emoji]

      Tony: U r not bringing that convenience store pizza here. Pepper! Tell him! We’ll get the damned pizzas

      Clint: [middle finger emoji]

      Pepper: Clint, ignore Tony. Bring your pizza.

      Tony: Pepper!

      Pepper: Clint can bring his pizza, you can bring your pizza. Clint, Bucky and Steve will eat it all anyway

      Clint: right on

      Steve: hey!

      Bucky: [fork and knife emoji]

      Sam: what am i? chopped liver?

      Rhodes: i will REPRESENT

      Amidst the messages flooding the group, he gets one personal one from Sam: _r u ok? u need me and i’m there_. He doesn’t know how to answer that, so all he sends back is: _thanks_.

      Bucky’s smiling as he reads the messages. “We should celebrate.”

      “Yeah.”

      Bucky looks up. “You okay?”

      He tries harder to sound happy. “Yeah, I am.” And he is happy for Bucky, he truly is, but a small, selfish part of him can only think that he’s James Buchanan Barnes now, not Dmitri Batischev-Rogers. He grips Bucky’s shoulder, trying to recall how he used to touch Bucky like nothing more than a good friend. Bucky smiles at the touch, but it seems subdued. “It’s just starting to really sink in that you’ve got your name back, is all,” Steve says.

      The celebration at the Tower is a pretty low-key affair and Steve suspects he has Pepper to thank for that. He tries to keep some distance from Bucky, scared of what he’ll give away. But even with Bucky halfway across the room, his attention keeps gravitating towards Bucky. Sam notices his distraction, of course he does, but he’s kind enough not to mention it.

      A few times, he catches Bucky in quiet moments, moments when his smile slips and his eyes dim. So when Bucky goes out to the balcony by himself, he follows.

      “Everything okay?” Steve joins Bucky at the railing, standing close enough that their shoulders touch, a point of heat in the cold night air. Bucky glances at him then looks away. When he turns to Steve again, his smile is firmly back in place. Steve’s heart clenches. He recognises this thing Bucky does, this particular smile. He remembers a bar and haunted eyes and a uniform in disarray, he remembers his own failure.

      “‘Course everything’s okay, Steve.” Bucky bumps his shoulder with his own. “Why wouldn’t it be? The Russians got nothing on me, and the army owes me a fuckton of back pay.”

      “I dunno, Buck, but something’s definitely bothering you.”

      Bucky’s smile falters. The silence that follows is broken only by the sounds of the city and the faint scritching sound of Bucky’s tumbler as he turns it round and round on top of the railing. “I didn’t know who I was for so many years. I didn’t have a name, just a—a designation. So all this, having my name back, having it be official… just takes some getting used to, I guess.”

      Bucky takes a sip of his whiskey and smiles at Steve. The smile’s supposed to reassure him, Steve thinks, but it does the opposite. He’s even more convinced that Bucky’s hiding something from him. But he doesn’t push. Not tonight. Nothing makes Bucky withdraw into himself faster than having to talk about his time under Hydra’s control. He wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulder. “Anytime you need me, Buck, anything you need, I’m here.” And he promises himself that this time, he’ll do better.

      Bucky nods. Then he leans into Steve’s side and turns back to the view. They stay there sharing warmth and silence until Tony hustles them back inside to drink another toast to science, perseverance and the collective genius of Stark and Banner.

      By ten o’clock, everyone’s scattered all over the room. Bucky’s doing shots at the bar with Clint. He seems to have shaken off his odd mood, but Steve wonders if that’s really the case, or if it’s because Bucky knows he’s watching.

      In a reversal of earlier, Bucky’s now the one sending him worried looks, his eyes searching Steve out wherever he is in the room. Bucky’s concern warms him, but he knows he has to get away soon. Everything feels all wrong; Bucky’s not by his side and even Sam’s quiet understanding feels like steel wool scraping over exposed nerves.

      “You finally gonna drink with us, Steve?” Bucky asks when Steve seeks him out at the bar.

      Clint flips over an empty shot glass and holds the vodka bottle over the glass, ready to pour. He gives Steve an enquiring look.

      Steve shakes his head with an apologetic smile. “I’m gonna head back.”

      “Okay.” Bucky starts to get up. “Let me get my—”

      Steve touches Bucky’s arm, the motion feeling awkward and unnatural. “It’s okay, Buck.” He nods at Clint, who’s watching them with open interest. “You should stay.”

      Bucky’s frozen in position half off the bar stool. “You sure?”

      It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask Bucky to come back with him, but he’s been selfish long enough. “Yeah. You’ve been staying home so much lately.”

      “Oh,” Bucky says softly. Then he smiles and sits back down. “Okay.”

      When Steve steals one last glance before he slips out the door, he sees Bucky hunched over the bar, shaking his head at whatever Clint’s saying to him.

      His journey home is a blur. The only memory that stands out is the feeling of his ring as he twists it round his finger, the metal smooth and warm, a plain brushed platinum band that Bucky had chosen. _Gotta match the arm, Steve_. Even though the solid permanence of the ring seems to mock him, he can’t bring himself to take it off, especially since Bucky’s still wearing his.

      At some point, he finds himself standing in front of their—Bucky’s room. What does he do now? Move back into his own room? He can’t presume he’s still welcome in Bucky’s room, but it feels wrong to move out without talking to Bucky first. Or at least that’s what he tells himself. He should wait for Bucky to come home before deciding. But Bucky doesn’t come home.

      Steve ends up on the couch, so undecided about which bed to sleep in that he sleeps in neither. He hates it. He hates not being able to hear the sound of Bucky breathing next to him. He hates not being able to feel the warmth of Bucky’s body against his skin. He hates it because Bucky’s _not there_.

      He’d gone into their sham marriage thinking he wouldn’t get caught up in the pretense; hadn’t he survived that apartment in Brooklyn and tents and officers’ quarters all over Europe? Instead, every touch and kiss and show of affection had only served to bind him more tightly to Bucky. Even knowing he has to give it all up now, he doesn’t regret a single moment of it.

      He finally falls into a fitful sleep and wakes at the soft scrape of a key in the lock. Bucky walks in, a tired droop to his shoulders. He’s so preoccupied that he doesn’t notice Steve lying on the couch as he heads to their—his— _their_ room. Bucky opens the bedroom door and freezes, the hallway light revealing the look of surprise on his face. He looks around and spots Steve on the couch.

      “I’m sorry,” Steve says, sitting up. “I didn’t know whether you’d want me gone or—I mean we decided to do it together. So we should continue doing it together—we should continue _deciding_ together, not sleeping—or well, we could—” He sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. He should probably have given more thought to what he wanted to say. He tries again. “You sleep better, right? When we’re together?” But that was the coward’s route. “I sleep better too.”

      Bucky stares at him for a long moment, shadows lending his face a melancholy cast. “Yeah,” Bucky says, and Steve thinks he can hear relief in Bucky’s voice. “I sleep better.”

      Steve waits, hopeful.

      “Come on,” Bucky says.

      Steve all but scrambles off the couch.

          

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

     

     Everything goes back to the way it was before, except that his things remain in Bucky’s room, and every night, they climb into bed together each on their side of the bed, but tangled up together come morning. By unspoken agreement they contrive to never wake up at the same time. They don’t talk about it, this thing they do, and it exists in a vacuum outside of their daily life.

      Steve’s fingers still twitch every time he notices knots in Bucky’s hair. He can also see the small hesitations and aborted movements that Bucky makes that are a mirror to his own. He’s not proud of it, but it helps that he’s not the only one having trouble adjusting.

      He tries to talk to Bucky about whatever was troubling him that night at the Tower, but Bucky laughs it off. Ever since that night, Bucky hasn’t given any sign that anything’s wrong. If it wasn’t for his eidetic memory, he’d wonder if he imagined it. He continues to watch Bucky closely (he’d watch Bucky closely anyway, he always does now, the fear of losing Bucky something that still wakes him up at night).

      Bucky starts going out again. He’d always been the more sociable one and often spent time hanging out with Nat and Clint doing things with their collective arsenal of guns and knives and bows and arrows that should not be humanly possible. But ever since the day he’d moved into Bucky’s room, they’d spent most of their time at home.

      He shies away from wondering if Bucky had been slowly going stir crazy, stuck at home with Steve clinging to him like some particularly tenacious species of weed. He’s always been too possessive of Bucky’s time and attention. So even though he misses Bucky, wants to ask Bucky to stay home with him, he doesn’t.

      They still haven’t taken off their rings.

     

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

     

      He looks at the marriage licence in his hands. It’s been nearly a month since their marriage had outlived its purpose. He can’t put it off any longer, can’t leave Bucky in this limbo of being married but not.

      Music’s coming from the kitchen where Bucky’s starting up their dinner. It had taken Bucky nearly a year before he’d listen to music while he worked, not wanting anything to mask the sounds of an attack. When Bucky started voluntarily switching on the stereo was when Steve could finally believe that Bucky had come home.

      “Hey, Buck.”

      Bucky looks up from the onions he’s dicing. He notices the piece of paper in Steve’s hand and stills. “Is that…?”

      Steve nods. “Remember Pepper said our marriage would still be valid even after we prove you’re not Dmitri?”

      “Yeah…?” Then, “Oh.” Bucky’s gaze drops to the ring on his flesh hand, then he grins that old, cocky grin that looks somehow out of place on the pared-down planes of his face. “Time for that quickie divorce, huh?”

      He tries to match Bucky’s wry tone. “Yeah.” He fails miserably.

      The grin slides off Bucky’s face. “Steve?”

      He turns and starts walking away. He can’t let Bucky see. “I gotta go, Buck,” he says over his shoulder. “Nat—” 

      “Steve.”

      He stops.

      “Steve, what’s wrong?”

      He shakes his head but doesn’t turn around. “Nothing.” He hears Bucky come out from behind the kitchen island to stand behind him.

      “Don’t lie to me, Steve,” Bucky says, quiet and sad. “Not you.”

      He’s been lying by omission for years. But if he lies now, even with Bucky’s best interests at heart, he’ll be crossing the line into unforgivable. He sighs in defeat, turns around and forces himself to meet Bucky’s gaze.

      “I guess I’m not—” he looks at the paper in his hand then holds it out to Bucky. “I’m not ready for this to be over.”

      Bucky reaches out automatically and takes the licence from Steve’s hand. “You’re not… you don’t want to get divorced?”

      “I want us to stay married,” Steve clarifies.

      “But—” Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

      “I didn’t marry you just because I wanted to keep the Russians away from you, Buck. I also wanted to know what it’d be like…” he stops, unable to finish. He’d always believed he hid his feelings to protect Bucky. So why is he so terrified now that he can’t hide them any longer?

      “Like…?” Bucky prompts after a few seconds.

      “I always wondered what it’d be like to be—to be with you.” The silence drags on for so long that Steve finally sneaks a glance at Bucky. Bucky looks poleaxed. “I guess you weren’t expecting that, huh.”

      “You _asshole_.”

      “I’m sorry,” Steve says. It’s a relief to finally get it all out. “I know it was wrong of me to take advantage of the situation, of you, like that, kissing you and—”

      “I thought I was taking advantage of _you_.”

      “—moving into your room—” His mind comes to a screeching halt. “You thought…” He gapes at Bucky.

      That’s when he finally notices Bucky’s eyes… they’re _incandescent_. Steve’s feet move of their own accord and suddenly he’s standing in front of Bucky. He thinks he can finally identify the emotion that’s lighting up Bucky’s eyes. He thinks it might be the same emotion he tries so hard to tamp down around Bucky.

      And he may be adept at crafting a rousing speech on the fly, but when it comes to Bucky, he’s robbed of all his eloquence. “So,” he says, “practice, huh?”

      “Got you in my bed, didn’t it?” Bucky smiles, slow and sly. “And don’t think I don’t remember who suggested kissing.”

      “Got you to kiss me, didn’t it?”

      Bucky snorts. “If I didn’t know for a fact how dumb we’ve been, I’d think we were pretty fucking smart.”

      “So you wanna try that kiss again? For real, this time?”

      “I’ve got news for you, pal. Every kiss I’ve ever given you was real.”

      “You are such a—”

      The rest of Steve’s sentence is lost when Bucky kisses him, hot and deep and consuming. Finally, Steve thinks, and lashes his arms around Bucky, happy to be consumed.

 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

     

      There’s a moment when Steve wakes with Bucky curled around him, body radiating heat, that he thinks everything that happened the day before was only a dream. Then details start to register, the feel of metal pressed against his bare side, the feel of skin, like hot silk, pressed against his back all the way down to the backs of his knees. No dream, then. And for the first time since he’d accepted that Bucky loving him back was something he could never have, his heart feels truly light. He smiles into his pillow when warm lips brush against his neck, whiskers raising goosebumps on his skin.

      “So all those mornings,” Steve says with dawning awareness, “that was you stealing kisses?”

      Bucky continues pressing kisses into his skin, the tip of Bucky’s nose skimming down the column of his spine. Heat pools in his gut. He feels the warm draft of Bucky’s breath as he laughs low in his throat, a little bit sheepish, a little bit smug. “Finally figured it out, huh?”

      Steve turns around and pushes at Bucky till he’s lying flat on his back. He leans down and dusts Bucky’s collarbone with kisses before laying his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky curls his arm around him.

      “I’ve wanted to do this since our first winter together,” Steve says. He trails his hand over Bucky, taking his time, letting his fingers learn the contours of Bucky’s body. “Thought about it whenever I drew you.”

      “Damn,” Bucky says, voice leaving him on a shuddery sigh. “Why is that so hot?”

      “You really thought about it? Even when I was—before the serum?”

      Bucky tilts Steve’s face up towards him with a hand under Steve’s chin. “Big, small… didn’t matter. I couldn’t ever see anyone else.”

      “Fuck.”

      Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

      Steve scrambles off the bed, dragging Bucky with him.

      “What the hell—”

      He gets down on one knee in front of Bucky. “James Buchanan Barnes, I love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you. Will you marry me?”

      “Finally,” Bucky says. His eyes gleam with mischief and so much love that Steve is left breathless. “A proposal I can get behind.”

      “Jackass,” Steve says. “So are we doing this?”

     

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr :) [yetanotherobsessivereader](http://yetanotherobsessivereader.tumblr.com/)


End file.
